Cover Me (The Donovan Family Book 5)

by Margaret Watson

  "I came out here to take a phone call from my sister," Cilla began. "It was too noisy in the pub. As I was saying goodbye to her, I saw Smith coming around the corner. I told my sister to call Brendan and get him out here."

  Sobieski stopped writing and studied Cilla. "Why did you do that? Was Welles threatening you?"

  "Not at that point." She swallowed again, and the muscles in her throat rippled. Brendan tightened his grip on her hand.

  Smith's knife had put a small puncture in her neck. Cut her side. But if Brendan had been slower to arrive, if Cilla hadn't been so fast, Smith might have cut her throat. Brendan could have found her bleeding out next to a filthy dumpster.

  "If he wasn't threatening you, why did you tell your sister to call your boyfriend?" Sobieski asked.

  Her boyfriend. He glanced down at Cilla, but she didn't react. She kept her grip on his hand and her gaze on the police officer. "I've met him before. He was here every night last weekend while my band played. He, ah, asked me out. More than once. I turned him down each time. He didn't take it well."

  "Okay. Back to tonight. What happened next?"

  Cilla described what Smith had said, how he'd swiped at her with his knife. How she'd tripped and stumbled, how Smith had grabbed her. Held the knife to her throat, kept it there while he ripped off her shirt and fumbled with her jeans.

  Her voice was even. Steady. As if she was talking about a stranger who'd almost been raped. Finally, she drew in a deep breath. Held Sobieski's gaze.

  "He told me to run," Cilla said quietly. "He said, 'I like it when they run'."

  "Really." Sobieski froze for a long moment, then she scribbled something in her notebook. She glanced toward the squad car, where Johnstone was herding the crowd back toward the pub door. "We always take a DNA swab in attempted sexual assault cases. I'll try to get it expedited. Anything else?"

  "I turned on the voice recorder on my phone when I saw him coming," Cilla said. "It was in my purse, but you should be able to hear what he said to me." Cilla looked around, then said, "I must have dropped it back there."

  The woman leaned out of the ambulance. "Derek, Cilla dropped her purse. Could you find it?"

  Then she turned back to Cilla. "Pretty cool under fire to turn on the voice recorder on your phone. Why didn't you just run?"

  "Because he blocked the way back to the pub." She'd kept herself pressed against Brendan the whole time. She was still shivering, though. Brendan slid his hand up and down her arm, trying to warm her. "Smith has given me the creeps since the first time I saw him. I was just...just listening to my instincts."

  "Pretty good instincts," Sobieski said. She glanced at the EMT. "How's the cut?"

  "She needs a few stitches. Wound's a little deep for a butterfly. We'll take her to the ER."

  Sobieski studied him and Cilla. "Okay," she finally said. "Can you come into the station afterward and answer a few more questions? And we'll need you to sign your statement and sign the complaint."

  Cilla started to speak, but Brendan squeezed her hand. "Can we do it tomorrow? Who knows how long it'll take at the hospital? And afterward, I want to get Cilla home."

  Sobieski studied both of them, her gaze going from him to Cilla and back to him. "It's better if we get her statement right away," she finally said. "Before she forgets anything."

  "She's got everything he said on her phone," Brendan answered. "You can listen to it and ask any questions tomorrow."

  "Okay," Sobieski finally said, bouncing her pencil on her notebook. "We'll do it tomorrow. Give me your contact info first, though."

  Brendan recited his cover name and address and the number from his burner phone. Cilla did the same. Then Johnstone leaned into the bus and handed Sobieski Cilla's purse.

  "We'll need to keep your cell phone," she said to Cilla.

  "You can't," Cilla said, and Brendan heard the hint of panic in her voice. "It's my only phone. I need it."

  "There's evidence on this phone," Sobieski said. "I have to keep it in my control, or it's not going to be admissible in court."

  Cilla glanced up at him, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. They'd realize it was a burner. Realize she only had a couple of contacts in it. How would they explain that?

  If she insisted on keeping the phone, it would weaken the case against Smith. Potentially let a rapist slither away from justice.

  He smoothed his hand over her back, over and over. To reassure her. Telegraph that they'd figure something out. Finally she nodded. "I guess I can do without it tonight. Can I get it back tomorrow, though?"

  "We'll let you know when you come in." Sobieski pulled out a card, handed it to Cilla. "This is one of the detectives in our crimes against persons unit. She's good. She'll be handling the case. Call her in the morning and set up a time to meet with her."

  "Thank you. I will."

  One of the EMT's leaned in the open door and said, "We're ready to roll." He looked at Brendan. "You can meet us at the hospital."

  "I'll ride with Cilla."

  "Family only." He stared at Brendan until he raised his hands and backed away.

  He needed to stay with her. Hold her hand. Trying to keep his voice casual, he said, "I'll be right behind you." He pressed a kiss into her palm and added, "Will you be able to handle being without me for ten minutes?"

  "I can probably survive," Cilla said, leaning toward him to brush a kiss over his mouth.

  As he climbed out of the ambulance, Brendan glanced back at her. He'd survive ten minutes away from Cilla.

  He just didn't want to.

  * * *

  Brendan glanced at Cilla as he turned out of the hospital parking lot and headed for the Dan Ryan Expressway. The EMT's had rolled Cilla's gurney directly into the ER treatment area. A doctor had looked at the wound, cleaned it, sutured it and bandaged it. Unbelievably, they were out of the hospital in less than two hours.

  Wearing a dark blue hospital scrub shirt to replace Brendan's polo shirt, which they'd cut off in the ER, she sat staring out the window. Her hands curled into fists on her thighs. Her expression revealed nothing.

  "How are you doing?" he asked softly.

  She roused herself to look over at him. Smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm thanking God that my sister got through to you. That you came out when you did. That all I got was a tiny scratch that took about ten minutes to suture."

  "That was all you, babe. You kneed him in the family jewels. All I did was use my belt to tie him up."

  "Didn't quite hit the family jewels," she said, not looking at him. "You got him on the ground. Kept him there. Called 911. Got Sobieski and her partner there fast."

  He glanced out of the corner of his eye. She'd slid her hands beneath her thighs. "Hey, that's what partners do. Back each other up. Cover each other."

  "You didn't just back me up. You saved me. From being raped."

  "You would have taken him down, Cilla. Even if I wasn't there."

  "No." Her throat rippled as she stared out the windshield. "I wouldn't have. He had me. And you know how it happened? I slipped on a piece of glass. Stumbled. As soon as I did, he grabbed me. Put the knife to my throat."

  He started to speak, to reassure her, but she spoke over him. "I've always been strong. Fast. Good at hand to hand. Kicked the asses of a lot of guys in training. But real life is different."

  She swallowed. Hunched her shoulders, as if she was going to be sick. "Men are usually bigger than women. Always stronger. And when a guy is trying to rape you, it's not like training. He's not going to play fair. He's going to use everything he has to control you. Hurt you. And if he has a weapon, there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

  "Yeah. You're right." He reached over the console, fumbled for her wrist. Tugged her hand from beneath her leg. "It's a crappy fact of life. And I'm so sorry you had to experience it."

  Her hand lay in his, unmoving. At his words, she curled her fingers around his. "Now I know how all those women feel. The ones whose husba
nd or boyfriend beat them up. The ones who are raped. The ones who aren't lucky enough to have a partner to cover her."

  She squeezed his hand more tightly, but didn't let him go. "And I don't like it. I don't like knowing I'm weak."

  "You're not weak, Cilla." He'd gotten off the expressway and stopped at a red light at the bottom of the ramp. He turned to face her. "When you saw the moment, you kicked him. You began the takedown."

  "I needed you, though. I couldn't have done it by myself."

  He twined his fingers with hers. "It doesn't make you weak to need help once in a while, Cilla. To lean on another person."

  Was he offering to be that person?

  He glanced at Cilla. Maybe. Possibly.

  And maybe it was okay for him to need someone else, too. Not someone. Cilla.

  "Yeah." She studied her hand, pressed against her thigh. "Maybe you're right."

  Her fingers tightened around his as a horn blared behind them. He glanced out the windshield and saw the light had turned green. Hit the gas too hard, and the car lurched forward.

  "Looks like you need a green light spotter," she said, untangling her fingers from his. She wasn't quite smiling. But the sadness in her eyes had retreated.

  "You volunteering?"

  "Guess I have to. One of us has to pay attention. Right," she paused, "babe?"

  He thought she'd missed his little slip. "Sorry. Just kind of popped out," he said as he turned onto a side street that led to his building.

  "Don't apologize." Her voice was soft. As if she might actually like him calling her 'babe'. "It's okay."

  "That's it? You're not going to ream me a new one?" Was she actually okay with it?

  Was he?

  "People say a lot of stuff in the heat of the moment," she said. "Just like when you called me your girlfriend in front of Sobieski."

  "You think that was something I said in the heat of the moment?"

  "Yeah. But it was the right thing to say. When we're at the pub, that's what we are. I'm your girlfriend. You're my boyfriend."

  "Makes us sound like we're in junior high," he muttered. "Has to be a better word."

  "There is. Partners. Which is what, in fact, we are."

  He reached for her hand again. "Cilla, I liked calling you my girlfriend. It felt good. Right. Kinda scared the shit out of me."

  "Good thing it's just temporary, then."

  "Don't," he said softly. "That's not what I meant, and I think you know it. This thing between us is new. Unnamed, so far. My last 'girlfriend' was in high school. It felt weird saying it. That's all it meant.

  "I never get too deep in a relationship. I don't have time. I work a lot. I spend my spare time writing. I've always gone out with women who wanted the same things I did – a good time, fun, no ties. That's not how I feel about you."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah." He took her hand, tried to smooth out the tension in her fingers. "You know about the blog. You found out accidentally, but that's because I broke one of my hard and fast rules. I never bring women to my place. Because I often get up in the middle of the night to write, and I never wanted anyone to know about it."

  "Then why did you let me come over last night?"

  "I wanted you there. And I guess, on some level, I must not have minded if you knew."

  "Okay. That's, ah, good. Yeah."

  He could read her perfectly. That, itself, should scare the crap out of him. She thought it had been the stress. The worry. He'd meant it.

  Just like he'd meant it when he'd called her his girlfriend.

  A tiny flutter of alarm churned in his gut. Girlfriend. Babe. Not ready to examine that. Time to focus on their case. "Do you remember when I told Sobieski you needed to sit down?"

  "Yeah, I did." She clenched her fist on her thigh. "I knew I was shaking. Made me feel like an idiot."

  "That wasn't it, Cilla. I was trying to get us both out of sight." He slowed to pull into a parking spot near his building. "As I was coming out of the restroom, I saw Romano. He was watching two guys in the back of the pub."

  "Yeah?" She frowned. "Who was he watching?"

  "Ward and Bates."

  Chapter 20

  "Ward and Bates?" Shocked, Cilla swiveled to stare at Brendan in the darkened car. The faint light from a street lamp illuminated the planes of his face, the hard set of his mouth. The pain in his gaze.

  "Yeah," he answered grimly. "And before you ask, yes, I'm sure."

  "Wasn't going to ask that." She reached over the console and curled her fingers around his wrist. He'd steadied her during the ordeal at the pub. Wrapped her in warmth when she shivered with reaction.

  Understood how much she hated being a victim. Made sure she knew he didn't think of her as one.

  She knew how much Brendan hated this knowledge – that fellow cops might be involved in distributing the drug that had killed several people.

  She hated it, too.

  Now she wanted to offer Brendan a shoulder to lean on. "Maybe it was a coincidence."

  "You really think so, Cilla?"

  No. She didn't. But she had to offer up the possibility. She wouldn't be doing her job if she didn't. And Brendan deserved at least a little hope that fellow cops were no part of the distribution of this deadly drug.

  She did, too. "I don't know, Brendan. But we can't jump to conclusions."

  "Awfully coincidental that Romano was watching Bates and Ward. Is he dirty? Working with them? Or does he suspect them of something?" He glanced at the deserted street, then swung out of the car. "Let's go inside. I don't want to sit out here."

  Cilla stepped into the cool autumn air and reached for Brendan's hand as soon as he came around the front of the car. She held it tight, and he didn't try to disengage when he fumbled with the gate.

  "You okay?" she asked as he struggled to unlock the gate.

  "I'm fine," he said gruffly, finally twisting the key in the lock. "I should be asking you that question."

  "Thanks to you, I'm feeling better."

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him for a brief moment. Then he let her go. "You're tough." He glanced down at her as they walked through the crunch of dried leaves on the sidewalk. "Maybe I'm not so tough. Maybe I need to know you're okay."

  She curled her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder for a moment. "I'm so glad you were there," she whispered. He'd made the whole humiliating mess so much easier.

  "Me, too." He glanced down at her. "No one should have to go through that alone," he said gruffly.

  Cilla stepped a little closer. "I'm glad it was you, specifically," she said quietly. "Made me feel a little better."

  "I wanted to kill him, Cilla." Brendan's voice was barely a whisper in the darkness. "Me. A cop. I'm supposed to preserve order. Arrest the bad guys. Treat everyone equally. And I wanted to pull that trigger so bad."

  "But you didn't." She stopped and pulled him around to face her. "You didn't kill him. You didn't lay a hand on him. If our roles had been reversed..." She shoved a hand through her already tangled hair. "If it had been my sister, and I'd been the one with her, I don't know what I would have done," she admitted.

  "Same thing I did," he said immediately. "You would have done the right thing."

  "I hope so."

  "Think of the alternative. Spending time in a cell with Large Marge?" He nudged her shoulder with his. "'Course you would have stopped yourself."

  A tiny bubble of laughter escaped as they reached the door. Two hours ago, that would have seemed impossible. Brendan made her...lighter. More free. More open and relaxed.

  He was good for her.

  Her smile faded. She hoped she was good for him, too. Up until now, though, she'd mostly given him attitude. Made him defend her in front of a bunch of his peers.

  Discovered his deepest secret.

  As they walked down the hall to his apartment, she twisted to face Brendan. "You're good for me, Brendan. But I've been giving you crap since we m
et. I have no idea what you see in me."

  He held her gaze, his eyes steady. "You're tough, Cilla. Smart. Kind. A really good cop." One side of his mouth curled up. "And you see through my bullshit." He brushed his mouth over hers. "Not to mention you're seriously hot."

  Instead of deepening the kiss, he unlocked his door. Franny came over when he switched on the light, stretching first her front legs, then her back. Brendan finally let Cilla go, then bent to ruffle Franny's fur. He pressed his cheek against the dog's head for a moment, then stood up.

  "I need to take her out," he said. "Just into the courtyard." He nodded toward the window. "Not a walk." He stepped into the kitchen, returned carrying a plastic bag. "We'll be right back."

  She wanted to go with him. To curl her arm around his waist and let him lean on her, the same way she'd leaned on him. But before she could offer, he and Franny were heading toward the door. "I'm not going anywhere," she called after them.

  She stilled. Tonight. She'd been talking about tonight.

  Maybe she wasn't.

  Brendan paused in the doorway and held her gaze for a long moment as her heart jittered in her chest. What was he thinking? Was what he'd said earlier true, and not just words to make her feel better? Could he possibly want more than tonight?

  Finally, after staring at one another for what felt like hours, he nodded. Stepped out the door with the dog.

  Cilla watched Franny and Brendan in the dimly lit courtyard, their dark shapes wandering over the grass, until Franny took care of business. When Cilla heard their footsteps in the hall, she opened the apartment door.

  Brendan rubbed Franny's back, then unhooked her leash. The dog trotted off toward the kitchen, and moments later Cilla heard her slurping water from her bowl.

  As Brendan hooked the leash over a coat hook on the wall, Cilla headed toward his kitchen. Brendan would want to talk about Bates and Ward, and nervous energy suddenly zinged through her. "You want a beer or something?" she called.